Smoked
by PlateDrachen
Summary: Jaune had never had much of a appreciation for Huntsmen. Bunch of self-righteous pricks, as far as he was concerned. But when his only chance to catch the head of a underground criminal syndicate leads him to Ozpin, he is given an ultimatum. Join Beacon, or lose your chance to catch her.
1. Whole

"Whole."

It was times like these that Jaune Arc wondered why his family was so intent on making him a hunter. He was only seven, for Oum's sake. And he'd much rather be a cook anyways.

At least he had some talent for that.

"Again." Rang out a voice.

A voice that Jaune wish he didn't know as well as he did.

The voice of his father, Percival Arc, who had been attempting to train Jaune in the use of a battleaxe for the last week.

 _Attempting_ being the key word.

Of course, Jaune had made no progress.

Still, he raised the axe once again.

Ignoring just how _wrong_ it felt in his hands.

Just like every other weapon he had held within them so far.

Jaune let out a sigh, getting a slight glare from his father for his lack of etiquette.

Yet, he didn't receive so much as an errant glance for his stance.

For any other pupil, that would probably be a good thing. A sign of progress.

However, the reason the Arc family was renowned for their combat prowess wasn't because of a unified style.

It was their _lack_ of one.

Jaune moved first, rushing towards his father as quick as he could. Raising the wooden axe, he attempted to swing it at his father, only for him to easily deflect the weak blow with the back of hand.

Jaune quickly lost his grip on the axe, sending it flying. Again.

 _25 meters? 30? Ah, who cares._

His father quickly raised his own axe to Jaune's neck, signaling the end of yet another duel.

Jaune held back the urge to spit in his father's eye balls. Barely.

Judging by the sigh Jaune received from his father, he had expected this outcome.

The reason for the Arc's lack of a true family style is because, unbeknownst to most of the world, their genes were a maelstrom. That meant that there would never be a perfect family style, due to how much an Arc's build could vary from one Arc to the next. And so, they made their own styles. By doing a lot of sparring, hunting, studying, and survival training.

The only subjects Jaune had shown any talent for were studying and survival. Go figure.

Jaune himself was fairly simple. Standing at 4 and a half feet with blonde hair, pale skin, blue eyes, and a face that was lacking the baby fat that a seven-year-old kid like him should still have. That was one thing he was glad for.

The constant training kept him fit and healthy.

His sisters, he had been told, had taken to the training slower.

He didn't bother to point out that his sisters didn't have to worry about lacking a weapon for as long as he had.

Or worry about having absolutely no talent whatsoever for the weapons they tried.

He did.

His sisters were prime examples of the Arc clan. Warriors, who, even though the oldest was only 18, were already accomplished. Heck, even the elders liked them. And they were in the dictionary, listed right under 'Stickly' and before 'asshole'.

His sisters were, of course, prime examples in other ways, as well.

Like his pink-haired fox-faunus sister, Miyo. Where the hell had she gotten those genetics from? Both their mother and father were human, and while Violetta (their mother) had purple hair (go figure), Percival had brown hair. Plus, she wasn't the only one amongst his sisters who were faunus, and the others weren't all foxes, either.

The magic of recessive genes, Jaune supposed.

"We're done for today, Jaune." Looking up, his father's disappointment was palpable.

Jaune held back the urge to make some witty remark.

His father still needed a factory reset for his humor processor.

"Feel free to start dinner after cleaning up, if you want. It's late enough." Percival said, looking at the slowly setting sun.

Jaune decided to do just that.

 _I wonder if I should mix some laxatives into their food? . . . Nah._

* * *

Cooking had always been a relaxing activity for Jaune.

As one of the few things he was good at, he made sure to _savor_ every moment.

Seeing that the curry he was making was done, he put away his apron, and was about to go call his family for dinner, when he saw the living room was empty.

 _Must be off having another family meeting. Must be reeeeaaall nice to have family to confide in._

Normally, he would just leave it be, but tonight, he was especially curious. After all, his dad was the last person who's weapon he hadn't tried yet. Plus, if he was caught, he could just say he was coming up to tell them dinner was ready.

Walking upstairs, he heard voices coming from the end of the hall.

 _Dad's office, huh? A classic._

Percival's office was one of the few rooms in the house that was big enough for such a meeting. Even if his sister, Rosa, was off who knows where, hunting Grimm.

Drawing closer, he realized the door was open _just_ a smidge.

A good thing, considering the house was soundproof, for one reason or another. He had a feeling he knew why, though.

Everybody likes their privacy. _Especially_ a happily married couple.

For a family of accomplished Hunters, he really did wonder why _he_ seemed to be the most observant of the bunch.

". . . You know as well as I do that he just, like, isn't learning. I don't know what it is, but his body just, like, isn't _built_ for any of our weapons, ya know? I know we have a genetically diverse family and all, but how the hell did he end up with such an _impossible_ build?" Said his sister, Violet. At sixteen years old, she was a mini-me of their mother in almost every way, besides personality. And speech patterns. It _still_ befuddled him how she managed to learn to talk like _that_.

Leaning against the wall next to door, Jaune listened intently. He had a feeling what they were discussing would change his life forever. _As dramatic as that is_.

"I hate to admit it, but it's true. Jaune's build is somehow both bulky and lithe. Too heavy for something like guns or a whip, yet too light for something like a broadsword or a battleaxe. It's a real shame, too. He has some great footwork." Said his foxy sister, Miyo. 14 years old, and easily the most mischievous of the bunch. Probably the reason she was his favorite.

What his father said next told Jaune all he needed to hear, however.

"No point in debate. Jaune just isn't cut out for combat."

Jaune quickly headed downstairs and out the front door. He needed some time to himself.

* * *

Jaune had long ago mapped the woods surrounding his house.

Survival was his prime subject, after all. Right alongside trapping. He _loved_ trapping.

It only took five minutes of him walking before he got to where he wanted to be.

A clearing about ten feet across, with a small stream. The tree's were close enough that there were only a few entrances, the stream deep enough that he would hear if something tried to cross. Perfect for camping, planning, and the occasional nap.

But this time, he simply needed time to think.

Grimm rarely entered this neck of the woods, and for good reason.

The Arc family were well known for a reason, after all. Men and Grimm alike feared them.

The true price of power, he supposed.

Isolation.

So much for being the 'protectors of humanity'.

He had met few people outside of his family, having been home schooled from a very young age, and all the people he _did_ meet were hunters.

And he wasn't in need of more hunters to make acquaintances of.

The Arc compound was well isolated, hidden away from the rest of Vale, and even the world. A select few outside the family even knew where it was.

In a world that, for one reason or another, feared them, the Arcs had to stick together.

So why did he feel so . . . _left behind_?

He couldn't remember anything before he turned five. Good or bad. Not even flashes.

He felt like a stranger in his own home, only truly interacting with his family for training and meals.

He should be happy that his father had finally declared he had no talent for combat. He could finally become a chef, and attempt to actually connect to his family.

So why did he feel so _lost?_

So deep was he in his thoughts, that he missed the footsteps creeping up behind him. Something he would never had missed normally.

What he _didn't_ miss was the feeling of a needle going into his neck.

He had barely gotten up and stumbled forward before he fell back onto the ground, unconscious.

* * *

Everything he could see was a blur.

 _What's . . .?_

"Managed to capture an Arc, huh? Good work. Their unnaturally large gene pool should help us narrow down the genetics involved in soul modification." A female.

 _Who . . .?_

"Indeed. It was surprisingly easy. Seems that he was too deep in thought to recognize the sound of my footsteps." A male.

"In thought, huh? Should we keep him awake for the experiments, then? That should be enough to fry his brain, and keep him from attempting to escape."

"No. It's about time we move on anyways. If the experiment fails, then we'll just leave him in the lab when we burn it. Should clean everything up quite nicely."

"Reckon Atlas will finally accept us again after we succeed? Living in a place as ugly as Vale is not exactly doing wonders for my health, and I imagine Mistral's not going to be much better, brother."

Jaune fell back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Jaune never thought that waking up could be so _jarring._

He couldn't feel his body. But he _could_ smell the smoke.

Looking down, he saw he was in some sort of open test tube. But that wasn't what was worrying him.

What was worrying him was the state of his body.

Raising his hand to his face, he saw it turning into little flecks of light, and flying away.

He was quite literally falling apart at the seams.

 _Huh. Is this what the end of the line feels like, then?_

Was his family right to lack faith in him, after all? Would he just die here, in some lab somewhere, forgotten? Abandoned?

In the distance, he heard part of the lab collapsing.

 _No._

He would get out of this somehow.

He couldn't die here. _Wouldn't_ die here.

Not before he proved them wrong.

Before he became something great.

Looking into the smoke, he felt a tug on his very being. His soul, he realized.

He extended his quickly fading hand . . .

And the smoke rushed into him.

He couldn't decide if he was feeling pain or bliss.

He could, however, tell that his body falling apart even more rapidly.

But instead of turning into light, it was turning into smoke, with what looked to be little bits of orange. _Fire? Combustion?_

Jaune reached for where he had felt the tug. Willed his soul to stop falling apart.

And it . . . did.

The smoke quickly returned to his body, replacing the missing pieces. Yet . . . he knew.

His body was now made entirely of smoke.

. . .

 _Guess that means I'm_ running on fumes, _huh? God, I'm good._

He attempted to get up . . .

Only to flash forward, and fall flat on his face.

 _Let's . . ._ not _do that again. If this is bound entirely to my will, then . . ._

This time, he succeeded in pulling himself up to his feet without turning into smoke, and was surprised by how familiar it felt.

It still felt like his body.

It was just made entirely out of smoke now.

 _Is this . . . my semblance? How?_

His parents had refused to activate his aura until they had found his weapon . . . so why? Did it activate because of the situation? Or was it something else?

Then it clicked.

The people who had captured him had mentioned something about soul modification. Had they activated his aura, _just_ so they could take apart his soul?

It would explain why he had began falling apart after waking up. When one's aura was activated, their soul was permanently linked to their body. It's why one's aura also grew stronger alongside your body, and why Aura could heal wounds.

Though, for most, the link wasn't a hundred percent soul to body.

Looks like he had just gotten unlucky.

If they had taken apart his soul, then it would explain why his body had needed something else to fill in the pieces. In this case, smoke.

 _And to think, I had thought that second-hand smoke was bad for you._

And he had pieced this all together, even though he was only seven.

 _Man, I should do this for a living or something._

Looking around, he was surprised to see that the smoke was clearing.

Then he saw the reason why.

His body was absorbing it.

This went on for a while before it stopped. And when it did . . .

He felt _whole._

* * *

Stepping outside after wandering throughout the base looking for an exit (his body had absorbed all the smoke he came across.) He was greeted by fresh air.

Across the entirety of his body.

Looking down, he saw he was _quite_ nude.

He quickly covered up his junk.

 _Um . . . must've missed that in my panic. Woops?_

Looking for a way out of his current situation, he felt a familiar tug on his soul. Then, it clicked.

 _I wonder . . ._

His semblance, sensing his will, quickly cocooned him in smoke.

When it dissipated, it revealed his new getup. The one that would be his go-to outfit for the rest of his life.

Looking into a nearby puddle, he quickly took note of his new appearance.

His hair had gone from bright blonde to blonde with black highlights and glowing orange tips, and his eyes now had hints of a bright, glowing orange.

Taking a closer look, he saw the new colors shimmering in the light. It was like looking into, well . . . _smoke_.

Thinking about it, he realized the colors must represent the new state of his soul and body.

Just like his new clothing.

Black gloves, black leather jacket with a fur collar the same color as the highlights in his hair, complete with tips, with a black shirt beneath, black jeans, and black leather boots.

Looking closer, he though he could wisps of smoke coming off his clothing. _A sign of my control?_

The outfit looked weird on a seven year old, he thought.

He had heard of wearing your heart on your sleeve, but really? This was just ridiculous.

 _Beats paying for clothes, I guess. Definitely better than going nude._

Looking around, he saw a number of pillars of smoke off in the distance.

 _A town? Some sort of fire? Either way, I guess it's better than wandering around aimlessly, for now._

And so, he walked.

* * *

It was, indeed, a town.

And it appeared he had entered through the red-light district.

Judging by what he guessed to be a woman of the night being molested by a thug.

Looking around, he saw that the few people on the street were ignoring it.

 _What the hell? . . . Guess I'll have to do it myself, then._

Looking around for a weapon, his eyes were caught by the gleam of steel.

Steel chains.

He immediately grabbed them from the floor of the alleyway. And watched in awe as his semblance remade them.

The chain became a blackened steel, and he could see wisps of his own smoke coming off from it. A smoke that held wisps of the orange color that no doubt belonged to his soul.

He could feel the chains connection to his soul, and holding it in his hand . . .

For the first time in his life, holding a weapon in his hand felt right.

 _Funny that my weapon of choice is meant to be a tool. Now, where's my theme music?_

The cocky smirk that split Jaune's face was the first thing the thug saw when he turned to look at him.

The second thing he saw was Jaune's chain aiming to split _his_ face.

It hit it's mark, right between his eyes.

The thug went down with nary a sound.

Moving forward, Jaune quickly moved to check the guards pulse- _how do I do this again? Oh, right_ -and was relieved to find him still alive.

He hated rapists, but he also hated murderers.

He didn't much care for the thought of hating himself.

Turning to look at the woman, he quickly assessed her appearance.

Loose black hair, with a bang in front of her right eye, on a face that was only slightly curved. She had crystal blue eyes, and at one point had lipstick on her lips, but the thug had apparently 'fixed' that. She wore what he was sure was once a beautiful black feathered dress (before the thug got to it) on a body with curves in all the right places.

All in all, she was a looker.

Attempting to shake off his fascination, he addressed her.

"You alright, lady?"

At his query, she quickly she shook off her shock.

"Yeah, that's not the first time that's happened," After he handed her his jacket, she continued, "Any particular reason a kid your age is that good with a chain?"

Taking a look at said chain, he quickly swung it around his right sleeve with his right hand.

"What can I say? It's the best friend I have."

She giggled.

"Is that so, sweetheart. Something I can do to repay you?" Judging by the look on her face, she had a few ideas.

Hearing alarm bells ringing in his mind, he quickly changed course.

"Actually, miss, would you happen to know of a place I can stay?" _Safe?_

She gave him a smile.

"You're perfectly welcome to stay at my place. Least I can do."

 _Safe. Phew._

"Well, who am I to refuse a lady?"

At first, she looked surprised. Then she laughed.

"My name's Claire, hun."

"Name's Jaune. Short, sweet, rolls of the tongue." He replied.

"Lady's love it?" She queried, with a raise of her brow.

"I don't know, do they?" He replied.

She let out a laugh.

"At any rate, would you mind, uh, telling me where I am?"

At this she gave him a shocked look, but it quickly devolved into a grin.

"Well, in that case, let me be the first to welcome you to Ashenhold."

At the blank look on Jaune's face, she continued.

"You know, on the island of Patch?"

Jaune's blank look only deepened.

* * *

No references this chapter.

* * *

Rewrite Hype!


	2. Burn

"Burn."

It had been 8 years since he had saved Claire from that thug. 8 years since he had escaped. 8 years since he had last seen his family.

And he couldn't be happier.

He had grown to a truly impressive six-feet in height, or impressive for a 15 year old, at least. Combined with a rather handsome face and his unique build and musculature, he looked far older than he was. Something he used to his advantage frequently. His clothes had remained the same, though he could change out of them, if he wanted, though he rarely did. They didn't need to be washed, after all, being made from smoke.

The reason he had grown so much was, quite simply, his semblance. Rather than his cells being run by his DNA, his semblance had been calling the shots. That meant that his appearance was based on his soul, and how much he worked on it.

He didn't need food or water as much anymore, and he could go for longer without sleep. His smoke, being a representation of his Aura, still ran out like Aura, which meant no going forever without fuel. Luckily enough for Jaune, he had a _lot_ of Aura.

His mastery over his semblance had only grown, and he had added two new weapons to his arsenal. His revolvers, which he had found on an investigation.

Standard .357 caliber revolvers, they were modified to be held by their respective hands. Made from Dust-infused silver, one of the strongest materials known to man. Having been modified by his semblance, he could load them with his smoke, effectively allowing him to shoot concentrated smoke bullets. They weren't lethal, but they hit like sniper rounds, and tended to mess with an opponents breathing, provided they didn't knock his target right out. He could supercharge them if he needed an extra kick, too. Plus, considering his reserves, which he could refill from any surrounding smoke, he basically had infinite ammo, and since he charged them with smoke, he didn't need to reload.

Admittedly, he could shoot smoke from his hands, but it was slower, and only really good at close range. Made for a good shotgun, though.

The only downside to all this was that he could only go for so long before his control over his powers began to go haywire, though it was happening less and less all the time.

It was probably for the best, though. Wouldn't all that power going to his head, now, would we?

He had kept the chain he had found in the alleyway. His revolvers felt fine in his hands, but _nothing_ felt as right as his chain. Plus, it was good to have a backup. Never knew when something could go wrong, even if his guns _were_ bound to his soul.

Speaking of things going wrong, he had discovered the hard way that he couldn't play around with water. While it didn't outright kill him, it played _hell_ with his control of his powers if he got too wet. Which basically made him a normal, if fit, human being. Was painful as hell, too.

But his mastery over his semblance only continued to grow. Who knew where he could be a few more years down the line?

His home, Ashenhold, had changed for the better, thanks to some community service on his part. Thanks to a way to bind criminals with smoke he had discovered, the criminals he knocked out were easily locked up, and alongside the criminal investigations he did, the police force, dubbed the Ashen Guard, were able to get a hold of the streets. And once people saw the police taking back control, they started opening up shop again. Combine that with an influx of police recruits from Signal, and you had a strong, if newly reborn, community.

Beyond that, he had opened up a private detective agency. It didn't make him rich, but it payed well, and it meant he always knew how to help people. Especially considering he hadn't failed a job yet. Even better than that was the fact that he was still living with Claire. Having a roommate help pay the bills (even if her main job _was_ a bit scandalous) really kept things easy.

It helped that he really appreciated her company.

But his pristine job record was being stretched to it's limit by his current job.

This was the biggest job he had received yet, one which he had received from a friend at the police station, and the only thing he had going for him was the fact that he had no deadline, due to the unique nature of the investigation.

A fact that didn't exactly fill him with confidence.

The person he was chasing was secretive and professional. His opponent was paranoid, thorough, chose their allies wisely, and seemed to lead through fear. And to top it all off, the only real leads he had were a bunch of Dust thefts. Dust thefts which, he had learned, were lead by a man named Roman Torchwick. The problem was, Torchwick himself was _also_ paranoid. He rarely left witnesses or evidence, and what little he _did_ leave behind was coincidental, at best. It didn't help that he was tough to track down. To top it all off, the thefts hadn't reached Ashenhold yet, meaning they were outside his normal range, and outside the jurisdiction of the Ashen Guard. But Jaune was getting close to a breakthrough with his current lead, he could feel it.

From Dust Till Dawn was his main, and most promising, lead.

As a standard dust shop, it wasn't too surprising that a Signal Academy student (named Ruby Rose) had been in the building when Roman had attempted his robbery, and had made to stop him. But that wasn't too important. What was of importance was that she not only _survived_ , but what happened to her afterwards.

Ozpin happened.

The man had swooped in like a vulture, immediately enrolling Ms. Rose into his academy, Beacon. Despite the fact that she was only 14, two years younger _at least_ than the rest of the student demographic.

Ozpin knew something. He _had_ to. Why else would he go through the trouble of hiding her away so thoroughly?

And luckily enough for Jaune, Ozpin had a outing soon. A simple meeting with some foreign principals, held outside of Beacon, right there in Patch.

If Ozpin truly was in the way of the plans of Jaune's target, then attacking him then would be about as ideal as you could get it.

Away from Beacon, with no-one but the foreign principals there to offer assistance. Principals who may not even be on Ozpin's side.

Jaune would go there, and with luck, would meet the phantom he had been searching for. If he didn't, he would still get a chance to talk to Ozpin. A Win-Win situation, if he ever saw one.

All that was left now was to tell Claire about his plans, and then he would be off.

* * *

Finding them was surprisingly easy.

Too easy, in fact.

Jaune liked to think of himself as optimistic, but even he knew that some things were too good to be true.

They were sitting outside a popular cafe, simply enjoying a nice chat and drinks. Judging by the smell carried to him by the wind manipulated by his smoke, coffee and tea.

 _Ozpin must have laid a trap, then. For me, or what seems to be our mutual acquaintance?_

 _Well, no point waiting to find out. If they're here, then there is a reason they haven't attacked yet, a reason that probably won't go away any time soon._

Looking to his left, he saw his driver.

Dressed in a dark gray ballistic suit, complete with a helmet that entirely covered his head, Jaune couldn't see anything through the visor. Something he was sure his driver didn't mind.

"Mind stopping here?"

The Ashen Guard's lead officer still owed him for taking on this case, and, as such, hadn't minded lending him an officer to drive him to his destination.

The guard quickly stopped the car.

"Thanks."

Jaune resisted the urge to use his smoke to carve a smiley face into the guards helmet. Instead, he got out of the car.

Just as he was closing the car door, however, a bolt of ice flew out of the crowd a few feet to his right, heading straight for Ozpin.

Said bolt was quickly intercepted by a blast from his hand.

 _Truly? Their confidence must be astounding. I suppose that answers the question about whether or not Ozpin is a friendly, though._

Then he saw the reason for said confidence.

His opponent was covered head to tow in top-of-the-line shadow-tech gear.

Shadow-tech was a recent innovation by a rogue group of Atlas Scientists (sound familiar?) which basically turned one's aura into a sorta anti-evidence field. It obscured it wearer's features, prevented footprints and handprints, and made one move almost noiselessly. And it did all of this while reinforcing it's wearer's innate defense. The only downsides were the price and the steady aura consumption.

He already knew that his opponent was well off in the money-department. What he didn't know was that they-she, judging by the curves-were a powerhouse.

Not that it complicated manners much.

 _Suppose she could have a worse semblance to face off against me with. Like fire._

His opponent hid her surprise well, quickly letting a ice bolt loose in his direction.

He continued walking in her direction, casually blasting the bolt out of the air with a blast from his hand. He noted that she seemed to have brought friends along, judging by the gun-toting goons who were about to attack Ozpin's group.

He quickly used his smoke to erect a smoke wall, something which he had developed specifically for dust bullets.

His opponent, upon seeing that their weapons of choice were utterly ineffective, quickly called off the attack. Thanks to their shadow-tech, they vanished into the night seamlessly.

Jaune quickly took down the wall, and walked towards Ozpin's group.

A group that, for all intents and purposes, looked utterly unfazed.

 _Used to stuff like this, eh?_

"Ozpin, I presume?"

Ozpin gave him a glance from beneath his glasses.

"You have me at quite the disadvantage. May I inquire as to _your_ identity?"

Jaune gave him a cheery smile.

"Name's Jaune, private detective, and collector of Playboy memorabilia." He stated, extending his hand.

He made sure to ignore the sounds of choking coming from the females at the table.

Ozpin gave a light chuckle, and returned his handshake.

"You already know my name. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Jaune raised an eyebrow.

"Did you miss the whole 'private detective' part of my introduction? I'm here on a case. Jeez, times like this that I wish I had them music."

Ozpin merely quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh? And what exactly are you investigating?"

Jaune gave him his brightest smile.

"Oh, you know, just investigating a very well hidden criminal syndicate which you seem to know about, judging by how you inducted Miss. Ruby into your academy."

Ozpin actually had the decency to look surprised.

"Mind coming to Ashenhold for a quick appointment? There's this park that's absolutely _lovely_ this time of year."

* * *

Jaune had not been expecting the sight that greeted him upon returning home.

His apartment building was in flames, and the authorities were only just arriving.

 _Only one thing to do, then._

He quickly ran into the building, right through the front door.

He had people to save.

And a crime to investigate.

Ozpin could wait.

* * *

Jaune had been expecting the gratuitous smoke.

What he hadn't expected was the metallic smell that met his nostrils.

Blood.

 _Second time today my expectations have been smashed_.

Following it to it's source, what he found made him stop cold.

Kurt, one of Claire's regulars, filled with bullet holes. Brown, medium length hair, leather jacket, jeans, boots, the typical punk look.

Now he had the look of your typical corpse.

Jaune didn't need to check his pulse to know he was barely breathing.

Jaune quickly began applying pressure to the worst wounds, and eased his smoke into Kurt's wounds.

Normally, you couldn't share Aura without something extra, but Jaune's semblance didn't much care for normal.

Kurt's color and breathing almost immediately improved.

"Kurt, up and at 'em. What happened?"

Opening his eyes, brown orbs peered at Jaune.

"Finally home, eh? Took you long enough." Here, he looked down at his body.

Judging by the look of surprise that crossed his face, an explanation was in order.

"I'm healing you using my semblance. I'll get you up on your feet, but after that, you'll have to get out on your own. The place is still holding up fairly well, so you'll be fine."

Kurt let out a dry chuckle.

"Good to know. I had heard you were going out of town, so I, uh, came to check up on Claire," Here, he let out a quiet cough, "Met the guys who did this to me on the way down. Get this, it looked like they were wearing the shadows. Suffice to say, I barely had to time notice 'em before they shot me up good."

Here, Kurt gave him a hard stare.

"I'm pretty sure they were here for you."

Kurt didn't to say anything else. Jaune already knew he had screwed up.

But he couldn't stop now.

". . . You're good to go Kurt. Tell the Guard what happened. I'll send any survivors I find down."

Before he could return to a standing position, Kurt grabbed his shoulder.

"If you need a place to hunker down after this, come see the gang. We'll set you up."

Jaune gave him a look of shock.

Then he smiled.

"Thanks for the offer, Kurt. Really."

He then brushed Kurt's hand off his shoulder.

With luck, he wouldn't need to risk anybody else.

They then went their separate ways.

In the end, Jaune didn't find anyone else.

And Claire?

She was now among the missing.

* * *

Ashen park, the place the town was named after, always soothed his soul.

It was named for the fact that the plants were the color of ash year round, healthy and growing or not, leading to a rather melancholy color sheme.

It suited him just fine.

Sitting down on a bench towards the middle of the park, Jaune his fellow bench-sitter.

"Ozpin."

"Jaune."

Ozpin gave him a weary glance. Over his mug of what appeared to be coffee.

 _Where in the hell did he get that?_

"Find who you were looking for?"

Jaune didn't bother asking how he knew.

"Nope. Luckily enough, it looks like she simply got the hell out of dodge. She's missing, but at least she's not captured."

Ozpin quickly took on a speculative look.

Jaune just gave him a knowing smile.

"Let me guess. You're wondering how the hell she knew to get out of dodge?"

Ozpin redirected his speculative gaze onto him.

"Yes, indeed."

Jaune redirected his gaze into the park.

"Me too."

Then, Jaune pulled out his notebook.

"But we can worry about that later. For now, how much can you tell me?"

To Ozpin's credit, he was only surprised for a second before he answered.

"Nothing."

Jaune just gave him a blank stare.

"Nothing?"

Here, Ozpin nodded.

Jaune let out a sigh.

"What do you want, Ozpin?"

Ozpin gave him a light smile.

"Simply put, I want you to enroll in Beacon."

Jaune gave him a shocked look.

Then, upon seeing that Ozpin was, in fact, serious, planted his into his notebook.

 _Fucking third time's the charm._

"I'll do it."

* * *

Normally when he signed papers, they were relatively simple.

A report of deeds done. Who had given him the case, where did he look first and what did he find, etc, etc.

The only time he had signed something like the Beacon admission forms had been when he had first opened up his detective agency.

At least that was strictly confidential.

Setting his pen down, he studiously ignored the stare he was receiving from Goodwitch.

He was fighting a losing battle with his urge to return the stare, just to see what happened.

After all, it wasn't like she was unpleasant on the eyes.

Looking down at his finished paper as he pushed it forward, he couldn't help but wonder.

 _I wonder if anything will come out of having a missing Arc attending?_

 _. . ._

 _Nah._

* * *

Another chapter done. Beacon begins next chapter. You have probably already guessed, but Jaune's going to be younger in this than he is in cannon RWBY. You can also probably guess why. If you can't, well, good for you.


End file.
